


Miracle Night

by lmnysnckt



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BAMF Peter Parker, BAMF Wade Wilson, Bottom Peter Parker, Crossdressing, Dancing, Drag Queen!Peter, Drag Queens, Inspired by Tom Holland Umbrella Lip Sync Challenge, M/M, My First Smut, Oneshot Prompts Challenge, Porn With Plot, Pre-Scars!Wade, Ridiculous Drag Queen Names, Top Wade Wilson, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:27:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26081182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lmnysnckt/pseuds/lmnysnckt
Summary: When those bright eyes turn to Peter though, he realizes this is the one that has been suffocating him with his gaze. The man who makes him feel an overwhelming sensation to lay himself bare.“Do you usually go around stealing people’s drinks?” Peter asks.“Nah, more like I usually go around taking blowjobs.” The man has no class, “Speaking of which, you--” he points to Peter, eyes roving over his tight form in red, “me and a nice dark corner? I’ll pay you back for the blowjob with an even better one.”Or the one where Peter's a Drag Queen and is in for the night of his life. ;)
Relationships: Peter Parker/Wade Wilson
Comments: 2
Kudos: 128





	Miracle Night

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what I am doing, I just wrote to write. I hope you enjoy because I seriously don't know where this shit comes from. Haha, but I had fun! 
> 
> Also, who could not be inspired to write a Spideypool fanfic after watching this:

Sleek like a shadow, light trickles through slotted blinds, and snakes down skin and fabric as the morning sun rises.

For every patch of skin found by splintered light, warmth soon follows and a hum sounds. A figure rises, slowly and with every deliberation to move at the pace of an old, well-lived sloth.

A yawn, a pop of bones, and the figure is stepping up, basking in the glow of the light that now worships the youthful and toned, creamy skin.

Pit pat, pit pat.

Echoes of pale feet walking across wooden floors. The owner is soon preoccupied by answering the call to nature, and then rinsing their hands before washing their face.

Pale and freckled, brown eyes blink tiredly at their reflection. A rub here and there, and another stretch. It is only in the arch of shifting their long neck to the right that brown eyes widen in shock.

“Baby boy…”

A shudder, a mutter, and a faint moan. It is a subtle return of memory, and as the owner of brown eyes, pale skin and freckles tumbles out of the bathroom and on to his knees, he pauses.

Like the vestige of a god of old, there is a man, all corded muscles wound tightly in beige sheets. An endless sea of man that makes brown eyes dilate, and pale hands tremble.

What happened? What have I done?

And on the floor in a sacred vigil, looking all the world to a simple outsider as a peasant in prayer to the divine creature on their bed, the owner of brown eyes begins to recollect.

To remember.

#####

__

“The itsy-bitsy spider went up the water spout,

And down came the rain and washed him all about...”

Brown eyes rolled around in sheer agony as the owner was continuously sung to. The annoyance would have persisted too if not before said Spider jammed a lethal, leather-heeled boot between two legs. 

“Sing one more time, and I may not be careful about where I step.”

Straining in agitation, the two of them could never get along, “Do you usually take steps up people’s vanities?”

“Loki, stop messing with Peter, will you,” beckons a voice in the distance.

Said males turn a glowering direction to the owner of that voice. If there was one rule never to be broken, it was referring to them by their real names. They took pride in the names given to them, took pride in being Spied-a-Man and Cunt-O-Dick. 

“Ladies, chill.” Clint steps further into the dressing room, assessing his girls in all their glitter glory.

Blue eyes roved over one puff of feathers after another before they landed on the leather-strapped queen. And from the look on Loki’s face, Clint knew Peter was one stiletto too close to losing an eye. 

“Let’s go, Pete,” Clint beckons a second time. “You’re on in five.”

Peter huffs in indignation, appraises Loki one more time, taking in thin lips warped into a twisted grin. Despite both of them having been hired at the same time two years ago, they have yet to find any sense of camaraderie with one another. 

Nor would they ever.

“Watch yourself,” is all Peter says before he removes his heel, and saunters away.

“You really need to not lose your temper.” Clint says when Peter and he are finally walking down the backstage corridor. 

“It’s not like I get mad on purpose.”

“But you are aware he does it on purpose? Just keep to yourself, Peter. He’s just jealous.”

“Easy for you to say,” Peter mutters. 

Thoughts of his fellow drag queen shoot off as he nears the stage. All focus now is on the performance, he’s done this routine for several nights now, his newest one on the list. And it has received the most explosive reception in his drag queen life.

Peter can feel the adrenaline rush now, the beat of the low bass, techno music currently playing in interlude. He feels his muscles coil in tension and begins to bounce on the balls of his feet.

The stage is set up to appear like a city night, and the glitter illuminates and sparkles on the higher stage pieces, imitating a star-studded sky.. 

“Ready for this?”

“When am I ever not?”

Clint laughs and inclines his head, acknowledging that Peter had a good point. There has not been a time when the young queen was not ready.

Peter takes initiative, he takes on chances.

“Cue go for 10!” A stagehand shouts from somewhere.

Clint takes this moment to clap Peter on the shoulder, and pull him in for an awkward side hug. Slotted into the club manager’s side, Peter leans in and closes his eyes. Let’s himself relax for a brief moment.

Then Clint begins their ritual.

10\. “I tricked you into being here,

9\. “Practiced words that weren’t sincere,

8\. “Concocted a truly deceitful tale,

7\. “Crafted And worded not to fail,

6\. “Wrapped you tightly with sharp barbwire,

5\. “To keep you still and somewhat quiet,

4\. “Patiently weaved a rusted web, 

3\. “So when you move it stings your skin,

2\. “Squirm and fight This all you want,

1\. “Resisting just makes this more fun.”*

“Showtime, baby,” Clint removes his hand and slaps Peter’s ass for good measure. “Make those old men jizz in their pants.” 

The young man laughs, jovial, and bounces on his feet. It was now, or it was never. And Peter did not do never.

You have my heart, and we'll never be worlds apart  
Maybe in magazines, but you'll still be my star

Muscles spasm as Peter moves to the right, and then moves to the left. His mouth moves to the words of the music booming from the overheads, and he feels it in the heat of the stage lights, and the warmth of his own heartbeat.

When the sun shines, we shine together  
Told you I'll be here forever  
Said I'll always be your friend  
Took an oath that I'm a stick it out 'til the end

Bending back and forward, dozens of eyes rove over the agile, and lethal form of the queen before them. The way he commands the stage, ethereal in the hues of blue and purple flashing lights.

Peter struts forward, his dancers following his lead before they twist and turn more. The chorus drops down, and then as he pivots down and up. Peter knows the end is rising.

So I'm gonna let the rain pour  
I'll be all you need and more  
Because

And then an avalanche of water is slamming down on Peter as he continues to move his body. Feeling the music singe his veins, and dominate his movements. Sweat is slinking down his body, and as Peter shifts and moves he suddenly freezes in his movements. 

You can stand under my umbrella, ella, ella, eh, eh, eh  
Under my umbrella, ella, ella, eh, eh, eh

Peter is overwhelmed by dark eyes staring at him with such intensity. He cannot make the man out that well, but his figure is striking. In the back of the room he takes up much space, leaning against the bar, his height outranks a majority of the people there, and his face is overcast in shadows. 

Peter can feel those eyes roam his form, lingering for a moment on the slope of his spine, the curve of his hips, the bend of his knees, and for some moments, on the sweat that coils on his lips. 

“Oi, stage whore, mind getting off?” comes Loki’s grating voice. 

Peter finally retains his senses. Realizing only now that his performance was done, the applause was momentous and flourishing, and there were shouts for encores.

“Oh,” Peter starts, “I think they want me to stay here. And I kind of like it.” 

Loki flips Peter off from where he stands behind stage, waiting for his own performance to begin. The younger of the two smiles ruefully, but finally obliges to get off when he spies Clint giving him an eye roll before gesturing to move his ass.

“You’re playing with fire,” Clint warns when Peter is skipping towards the dressing room.

“Ever seen a Spider get burned?” 

Clint does not deign that with a comment and turns to focus on what a stagehand is trying to tell him. Peter takes that chance to laugh merrily down the corridor, and into the room.

The other sisters are out and about now, on the floor since Cunt-O-Dick is usually the last performance of the evening. Then they open it to karaoke and striping.

Languidly, Peter is shuffling out of straps of leather and finding a dress that is more comfortable. Red flickers in the corner of his eye, hanging on the clothing rack, hidden gem amongst rhinestones and lace.

“Oh, someone’s getting sexy tonight!” 

Peter cannot help the yelp that crawls from his mouth as he endures a hard smack to the ass from his sister. 

“Was that necessary?” Peter huffs, rubbing his abused glutes.

“Anything I do is a necessity,” Sam Wilson says. 

He’s ruffled up in a beautiful array of gold and white, they call him Falcon for short but his queen name echoes in salacious vigor--Fal-Cunt Spurts.

“Vain.”

“Small.”

“We’re the same size,” Peter snaps while finally placing a hand on the dress that caught his eye.

“That has yet to be determined,” Sam begins, he creeps closer. Coy in his eyes and the stretch of his chocolate, high cheekbones. “Unless...of course,” he’s reaching for the remaining straps hanging loosely at Peter’s waist.

“Nuh uh,” Peter yanks his straps from Sam’s clutches, “This Spider eats birds, and not in a fun way.”

He winks when Sam whistles, bright teeth biting full lips playfully, and the man is walking away. Peter returns his attention to the red dress, still remembering the feel of hot eyes on him.

He wants to be wrapped in that intensity again, it makes him feel more alive than he has in years. It can’t hurt to flirt a bit, can it?

“One blowjob please,” Peter says when he arrives at the bar.

“You need a new favorite drink,” Bucky challenges. He is quick in making the order despite the prosthetic arm that stiffens his movements.

“I like being vanilla,” Peter smarts. He smiles though when Bucky rolls his eyes and slides the creamy beverage his way. 

Peter is about to grab for it when a large hand appears, grabbing the drink. He gapes as he watches that hand move to full lips, eyes roving from the strong jaw to the thick neck and Peter feels himself heat up in time with the movement of the stranger’s Adam's apple.

“Whoo, not bad,” the man says when he slams the drink on the table, cream present on his upper lip. He’s all bright eyed with eager decorating his handsome face, Peter briefly wonders about the slight cut on the upper brow.

When those bright eyes turn to Peter though, he realizes this is the one that has been suffocating him with his gaze. The man who makes him feel an overwhelming sensation to lay himself bare.

“Do you usually go around stealing people’s drinks?” Peter asks.

“Nah, more like I usually go around taking blowjobs.” The man has no class, “Speaking of which, you--” he points to Peter, eyes roving over his tight form in red, “me and a nice dark corner? I’ll pay you back for the blowjob with an even better one.”

Peter shudders at the prospect, the man’s voice dipped even deeper than before, which Peter is not sure it could go any deeper. 

“Bold,” Peter says. 

“Rude,” Bucky interjects.

The man shoots Bucky with a debilitating glare that the bartender has grown used to. Comes with the territory. 

“So, how about it, sugar-bear?” 

“Sugar-bear?” Peter starts with indignation.

The man just offers him a salacious grin. He’s completely unbounded in overconfidence and sexual appeal. It’s apparent to Peter that this is a man that often has his way, despite his contentious behavior. It was probably what was so charming, he just had no care for anyone’s thoughts--that much could be seen.

“I don’t even know your name,” Peter suggests.

“I don’t know yours,” the man counters.

“You do.”

“Spied-a-Man doesn’t count as a name.”

“I’m a queen, anything counts because I say so.”

“Well every King needs a Queen, so like I said, how about it?”

“I don’t play with strangers,” Peter finally says. He’s coy in his movements as he pushes up from the stool, and presses close to the stranger. “I like to know thoroughly who I play with.”

Teeth bare down at him, Peter’s eyes dilate further in lust as it coils at the base of his spine. He will not let it show, though, how much the man’s staggering height and size--the sheer dominance he has saddled up next to Peter’s meager stature--affects him. 

“Kitty has claws,” the man hums.

“Not a kitty. But a Spider does have fangs.” Peter saunters away after that.

He is excited and aggravated all at once. He’s been propositioned before, and the assumption that he would just lay down and spread ‘em was so borish and insulting.

He had more class than that, more worth and value that he wanted to be appreciated. Peter never thought anything wrong of one-night stands, or sexually empowering life-styles. What he did have a problem with was when someone seems to think he will want for anyone who’s got a dick.

Unlike some people--primarily Loki--he was not a size queen nor did he have an overzealous, oral fetish. He had always been about personality and wit more than anything else.

Peter huffs his thoughts away though, not wanting to slip into some coma-riddled, internal monologue with himself. He spots a sister, donned in red, blue and silver, basking in reverent attention of what appears to be a very unwanted customer.

“Spider!” Steve greets, desperation shimmering in the darker shade of his blue eyes. 

He’s aching to be freed from entertaining the individual that’s practically trying to climb him, despite the constraints of the booth they sit at.

“Cap--” Peter freezes when he recognizes the person that’s harassing his sister, “Mr. Stark!” 

Said multi-billionaire philanthropist nearly falls flat on his face when Peter yanks Steve out of his clutches. 

“Pete,” Tony Stark says, he’s drunk and somewhat high, probably from the new drug he’s been creating at his labs. Peter’s very aware of the drug since it’s supposed to be utilized for medicinal purposes. 

“I see we got into the stash again,” Peter hums, mildly irritated. 

“You know him?” Steve looks between the two with vague amusement.

“He’s...my mentor.” 

Peter has never been sure what to refer to Tony Stark as, but the man is the reason he is able to contend with the likes of others in his biochemical engineering program at Columbia. 

“Oh!” Steve scratches his head, “He’s Tony Stark!” 

Peter blinks in surprise, then again, this was Steve Rogers--strangely not aware of anything popular culture or currently trending, and has the old soul of a man born in the 1920s. 

“How...how did you not know who I am?” Tony suddenly cries in audaciousness. “I’m everywhere!” 

He stumbles upward, and Steve manages to catch him. Tony does not waste the opportunity to grope strong biceps, and press close to the firm body of Captain A-Meri-Cunt.

“Oh God, do you workout? Cause these feel amazing.”

Peter feels embarrassed for his mentor, flushing red as Steve just lightly chuckles.

“Yes, and I think you’ve had one too many drinks. Maybe time to go home?” Steve suggests.

Peter contemplates also offering his assistance getting Tony home, but he also could just call Happy—undoubtedly the man was waiting in a cadillac parked somewhere outside.

“Oh, I thought you’d never ask. Are we hitting up my digs or yours? Most of the time everyone comes to my place. Does have all the amenities, but a change in scenery isn’t bad. So yours?”

Steve blinks and side-glances Peter who merely groans, sagging in defeat. His pale skin is brightening in hues of red that’s outshining his own dress, and it is apparent he is unhappy with the circumstances.

“He definitely needs to go home,” Peter starts and he is making for Tony’s arm, yanking him roughly to his side and glaring at him. “You better remember this because you owe me now.”

“Owe you?” Tony shouts. “You can just go fuck yourself, and leave me be. Goldie-locks and I were just fine before you came along, princess.”

“Goldie-locks?” Steve frowns at the nickname.

“Yeah, about that” Peter shuffles Tony over so he’s propped up against a wall. He pinches the billionaire’s face and directs his gaze towards the bar. “Sadly, for you,Goldie-locks already has a boyfriend.”

Tony gapes, affronted.

“Peter,” Steve starts.

The young man merely winks at his fellow sister, and mouths the words, ‘I’ve got it from here.’ Peter manhandles Tony towards the back rear of the club.

He can briefly feel hot eyes on him as he grabs Tony’s coat from the host. Peter fights the urge to turn and search for the stranger from earlier, seek out his bright gaze and scarred brow.

“I always thought curmudgeon was a funny word.” Tony begins to drunkenly ramble, “I mean curmudgeon—“

“Mr. Stark, seriously, enough. Where’s Happy by the way?”

Tony huffs,”I don’t want to talk to you, you cock-blocker!”

Peter rolls his eyes, “I am trying to get you home, you want to sleep in the streets?”

“What I wanted was to roll in some sheets with a cute blonde—“

“You can’t act like this every time you and Ms. Potts have a fight.” Peter snaps.

Tony jerks in his hold, and levels a harsh, glazed glare, “Don’t you dare bring Pepper into this.”

“I honestly don’t understand why she puts up with you.” 

Tony does not afford Peter an answer, but does start commanding their walk, staggerly guiding them out of the club and into open air.

Peter breathes a sigh of relief, spotting the Stark labeled Cadillac a few blocks down the road. He and Tony walk the rest of the way in silence.

It is not until Peter is greeting Happy, who has stepped out of the sleek vehicle, that the billionaire pipes up again.

“I really do love her.” Tony whines.

Happy rolls his eyes, but carefully places his charge into the car. 

“I tried to stop him from coming to the club, particularly this one.” Happy begins.

Peter waves him off though, “Let’s just hope he doesn’t remember everything when he wakes.”

“She just doesn’t get it! I love her!” Tony is a mess, slumping in the backseat.

“I am sure she knows, she just needs some space.” Peter reassures.

Happy continues settling Tony in before slamming the passenger door shut, and rounding the car.

“You need anything, Peter?”

“Just keep my secret safe.”

“Of course.”

Puffs of air leave Peter as he watches the Cadillac speed off. He shivers a bit, having remembered he was still only in a mere wig, thin-fabric dress and strappy heels for clothes.

A couple of rubs to both his lean arms, and Peter huddles as he walks back to the club. He’s attempting to work his way back in through the same way he came when he hears a noise.

It sounds like a scuffle, probably two drunks gone at it again in the back alley. Peter should not bother himself with it, just go back inside and tip off security.

Yet something compels him, maybe it’s curiosity or maybe the lingering adrenaline from today’s performance, but he finds himself rounding the corner.

There is no surly sight of woebegone drunks, but just the lone dumpster and a broken fire escape hatch.

Peter walks a bit further, peering cautiously behind the mottled green of the dump. He sees nothing and decides the noise may have been some sewer rats scrounging around.

Twisting on his heel, feeling his performance song’s tune hum from his lips, Peter walks back. The sway of his hips and the chill of the cold night has him flashing back to being on stage.

He kept his nightlife a secret, not Aunt May or Tony Stark—no one knew save for the people who also worked here.

It was not as though he always had dreamed of being a drag queen, but after that horrid break-up with his long time boyfriend two years ago, he had needed something for himself. Something to bring him back to feeling, and enjoying life.

And after Gwen and MJ had bullied him into attending a Drag Queen Bingo Night, Peter was forever changed. So enthralled by the beauty and magnificence of—

“Help!” 

Peter frowns when his thoughts are disrupted, and swivels around just in time to see a man running for him.

Tattered and covered in blood, a scraggly-haired fellow limps towards him. He eagerly grips Peter’s arms and huffs fusions of puke and the after scent of a fruity margarita. 

Peter grimaces, and immediately uses one hand to grip the man’s wrist, twisting it upward while slamming his free palm into the man’s chest.

He has the drunken fool grounded to the dumpster, and refrains from gagging at the smell of the man who audaciously touched him.

“You’ve got a lot of nerve,” Peter starts.

The man glares at Peter with incredulous etched in his wrinkles, “N-nerve—-Look I need your help. Please!”

Peter frowns, about to ask a question, when he hears a barely there crunch of combat boots meeting asphalt.

“Oh, baby boy.”

Peter shudders because he recognizes that voice. The stranger that is so tall, so crass, so overwhelmingly fine.

“I thought I told you I don’t play.” Peter says. He remains as is, giving his back to the man. 

“Yeah, I did hear you,” he starts, Peter can feel his bright eyes seizing his form, soaking up his figure. “So I found someone else to play with.”

Peter frowns, “If this was the kind of play you were hoping for, I am starting to think I may have made the right choice.”

“He’s insane, help me!” the scraggly-haired man flails in Peter’s grip.

And before either of them can react, a small dagger embeds itself next to the poor man’s head, nicking a bit of his ear.

He squeals in protest, flailing so much that Peter whirls him around, flinging the man towards the opposite alley wall, letting him crumple to the floor.

“Was that necessary?” Peter snaps, livid to have nearly had himself impaled.

“Sorry, sweet-cheeks, kind of a knee jerk reaction,” the stranger is now in his view, powerful frame eating up his vision, “I mean being called insane hurts. Gets me right in the scrotum feels.”

“Scrotum—“ Peter decides not to even go there.

The stranger with a cut brow and a teeth-filled grin carries himself in an air of far too much sexual appeal. 

It crosses Peter’s mind that maybe he has found himself in a dangerous position. But he was not one to leave the helpless behind.

“I don’t know what your beef is with him, but leave him be.”

“No can do, sugar-bear,” the man is twirling another dagger with such dexterity between his fingers.

“I’ll tell you what, though,” he begins, “Walk back into the club and give me a few more moments with this fella, and for your troubles, I’ll treat you to tacos.”

The “What?” that blurts out from Peter’s mouth sounds to be the combination of a strangled dog and a dying pigeon.

“Know the best place in town, best tacos—basically the best Mexican food, hands down.” He’s grinning now, stepping between Peter and his target, “Not anything like that Taco Bell shit. Pure Mexican cantina, darling.”

Peter has never found himself in a more precarious situation. Here he was, in the middle of some dark alleyway, witnessing a possible attempt at murder, and being asked out on a date.

He knows he leads a rather dull, and uneventful life. But when he prayed to whatever deity out there this morning for a little excitement to come his way, he had not meant this.

There was no denying though, the closer the stranger approached him, the hotter the heat thrumming beneath his ears. The harder it was to breath, his body tingling at the smell of just man. His eyes could not stop their internal immortalization of the figure before him, roving over every inch, dip, curve of muscle that could forever be painted in his mind’s eye.

Don’t get distracted now, Peter! You’ve got a life to save! Don’t be turned on by a murderer!

“I am not going to let you kill this man!” Peter shouts, alarmed and completely trying to ignore how turned on he was right then.

“Baby, baby, don’t worry. I’m not unaliving this son of bitch, just wanna scare him...a bit,” the stranger chuckles, “Scouts honor.”

“You seriously think I’ll believe that?” Peter yells, “I just witnessed you throwing a dagger at him! And Jesus, Mary and Joseph, that you missed!”

A snort, “Sweet-pea, daddy never misses.”

Peter takes great pain in not visibly showing how much the word daddy is pleasuring his ears, his exposed area of skin.

What the fuck was wrong with him? He’s never been into kinks.

It’s as if the stranger knows though, his eyes trail and trail all along the lines of Peter’s tight form.

And before the young man realizes, he can practically feel the scruff of the stranger’s beard on his face.

"…"

On his face—

“Motherfucker!” Peter exclaims, having not even realized how quick the stranger moved, finding himself back up against the wall, pressed by a solid pillar of sex—muscle, er—man. 

Sputtering, Peter slams his fist into the stranger’s chest indignantly, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“Fuck, baby boy, you’re just too cute for your own good.” 

The stranger is touching him now, and it has Peter still immediately. He’s overwhelmed by the sensation of calloused hands roving over his bare shoulder, up the length of his neck, and skilled fingers dipping and rubbing in slopes and curves all along the way.

“...” 

Peter is struggling to find words, to stave off an erection, and to wonder who he had wronged this morning to be trapped in such a predicament. 

“Lost for words? I do that to people a lot. Guess you can say it comes with the charm,” he winks, “Holy Mother of Canada, you smell so good.” 

Canada?

Peter’s brain is short circuiting though as the stranger’s chiseled, fur covered face is now pressed up against his cheek, and he can hear the man inhaling deeply.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, Peter may be saved as the foul smelling man, in his attempt to try and take the opportunity to escape, cries out in pain because though Peter may have forgotten him, the stranger did not and had a dagger embedded into the fool’s knee.

The man goes crashing down in another round of flailing limbs and screams.

“Oh my gosh, are you out of your goddamn mind?” Peter yells, he shoves at the stranger again, this time managing to break free to try and make his way to the injured oaf.

Before he does, he hears a commotion, and the security from the club along with Bucky coming rounding the corner, someone must have picked up their commotion from the security feeds.

“Peter,” Bucky calls rushing to him.

Yet before Peter can say anything, he feels an arm loop around his waist and fingers grip his chin, guiding him into the hottest, quickest kiss he has ever had.

“Change of plans, it looks like, sweetums. Imma bounce with this little titty-twister, but it won’t take me too long to take care of business.

Meet me at Señorita Bonitas, the one in Queens, out by the old rails.”

Peter gaps as the stranger then just twirls Peter straight towards Bucky, leaning down and quickly yanking his target and slinging him over his shoulder as if he were just a bag of feathers.

“See you soon, baby boy~” the man hollers as he turns and runs back from where he came. 

The security guards chase after him, but Bucky remains, securing a tight grip on Peter who’s still trying to wrap his mind around what the fuck just happened.

“What the absolute fuck?” Peter screams when Bucky is guiding him back towards the club entrance

“Agreed.” 

Steve is there to greet him along with Sam and Pietro. The queens had worrisome expressions, but their faces immediately brightened as Bucky pushes Peter inside the club, and directly into their arms.

They squeeze and squabble the life out of Peter, passing him around so they can fret over him. By the end of it all, checking in with Clint to retell the details of the encounter, Peter is done for the day.

Loki does not even pester him for once, surprisingly mum on the whole situation and looking completely standoffish.

Might have to do with the fact Peter noticed the one regular that always came for Loki’s shows—an hour earlier for that matter—was not present.

“You sure you’re okay to go home?” Clint asks. 

The guards lost sight of the stranger an hour or so ago, and Peter finally managed to sequester himself alone, long enough to change into his regular, plain Peter Parker clothes.

Pulling on the Yankee branded, jersey jacket, Peter offers Clint a smile.

“I’ll be fine.” 

“You sure, kid? You know you can always stay here, got the rooms upstairs.”

“It’s fine, Clint, really. I’m just going straight home, besides, have class early in the morning, and the commute is a bitch. It’ll be worse if I have to trek all the way from Hempstead.”

“Okay,” Clint does not seem convinced, “If you say so. But text me when you’re home, ‘kay?”

“Ya, mom,” Peter says with an eye roll before waving Clint off at the club door.

Peter tucks his fluffy hair into the hood of the Star Wars pullover he has on under his jacket, and marches his way to the nearest bus stop. 

Trains would be done for the night, but the buses should still be going, and Peter knows his route like the back of his hand.

After 20 mins and two bus changes, Peter finds himself in his old neighborhood in Queens. It felt good to be around the familiar…

Speaking of which, Peter stops for a moment. He’s about 7 mins out from his apartment, and technically nothing should be stopping him.

Yet his mind is still buzzing with the craziness of the night, and two blocks down, if he neglects to go straight and takes a right instead, he’ll be heading towards the old rails.

Señorita Bonitas.

Peter shakes his head, it was absurd of him to even consider the notion. The stranger was obviously insane.

An insane murderer to boot.

An insane, sexily hot murderer to double boot.

An insane, sexily hot, daddy looking mother—

Alright, Peter was not going to complete that thought because the point being was that he had classes tomorrow, a life filled doing legal things and associating with people who also did legal things. 

No murderers, or nutty hot men around.

Just science and...a lonely apartment.

Peter shoves all thoughts out of his mind, tightens his hold on his jacket and trudges forward.

Absolutely, no, he will not even allow anything to take root. He was going home, end of the story.

-

“¿Estás bien, pequeño?”

Peter was so fucked up.

“No, estoy bien, gracias.” Peter turns to the sweet waitress that saddled up next to his booth. “Aunque creo que tomaré mi cheque.”

She smiles, soft cheeks stretching and nods. Peter watches as she heads back to the register and talks in hushed tones with another waitress.

To be honest, he was surprised they were open so late. Of course, not as surprised by his own insanity to come here. He could not believe how automatically he went from being determined to go home, and yet the moment the road to the old rails appeared, Peter was off towards Señorita Bonitas.

And he had been here for over 45 mins, waiting. For what the fuck exactly? Peter was not sure himself. He was in between being pissed at his nameless admirer, and pissed at himself.

The only thing preventing him from breaking down into tears from his own stupidity was the fact that he had been hungry...and they really did have amazing food.

He was shocked he had not even noticed this place existed. Maybe he would bring Aunt May here sometime...after a few weeks...or months when he no longer thought about murdering assholes that flirt with drag queens, and leave him hanging out to dry.

“Aquí tienes, dos flanes para ti. Doce tacos, cinco chimichangas, queso extra y el nacho supremo.” 

Peter blinks twice when a huge togo bag is placed in front of him. 

“Lo siento, pero no ordené esto.” Peter responds.

The woman just smiles, titles her head and then turns to look behind her at the other waitress.

They both share a peculiar look before the waitress looks back at him, she resurges her smile to the point that Peter wonders if maybe he was about to meet his death.

The sweetness he presumed earlier seemed to have been just a ruse.

“Tu novio me dijo que te diera esto. Te llevarías esto a casa juntos, ¿verdad?”

Peter cannot help the way his brows twist in confusion, and begins to bite his lip profusely. 

“No tengo novio,” Peter hastily replies.

The waitress looks to be an inch away of revealing her true personality, all pretense fluttering away with the epic crossed look she gives Peter that clearly reads, ‘Dumbass, don’t argue with me, it is 1 fucking 32 in the morning, just take the shit!’

Peter wants to protest though, trying to talk out before the waitress does again, but they both are sharply cut off when a loud crash is heard in the kitchen.

There’s quite the commotion, a string of Spanish cursing, and lo and behold, stumbling out of the kitchen with a quesadilla in their hand is none other than Peter’s current bane of existence since the evening began.

“Love you too, Enrique!” The man chortles, quite disgustingly since he was also trying to take a bite out of his quesadilla.

“Baby boy!” 

He’s making his way over to them, Peter all but wide-eyed and wondering how he should break it to Uncle Ben in the afterlife why he stupidly died so young.

“Elina, sweetheart, you’re working tonight? How’s the dog?”

“Go fuck yourself, Wade.” The waitress suddenly says in clear English.

Wade.

The name rolls itself around in Peter’s mind as he continues to partake in a third party experience. He’s watching himself, watching the stranger—no, Wade—argue with ‘Elina’ about proper conducts of a becoming young lady, and watching as Elina promptly grabs the still half-full pitcher of ice tea and proceeds to dunk it all over Wade.

“Alright, I deserved that…” Wade says as he looks over his stained white shirt, he shrugs off his jacket in the process of now turning his attention back to Peter.

Peter is not watching himself drool over Wade’s gloriously chiseled chest—because the shirt does nothing to hide those lovely pectorals—and bulging biceps that Peter would love to hang off of.

“Oh, they got the food ready just in time.” Wade starts as he peers into the bag, making sure they got his order right. “Alright, sugar-bear, everything is in here, let’s roll.”

“What?” Peter says, barely registering being manhandled out of the booth, out of the restaurant and into the cold night air.

Wait, wait! What the fuck?

“So who’s place, yours or mine?” Wade starts as he continues to hold Peter’s hand, dragging the college student back towards the intersection Peter had been at an hour before.

“Assuming you live nearby—“

“What the fuck makes you think I am going anywhere with you?” Peter shrills and proceeds to yank his arm out of Wade’s grip.

“You did come to meet up,” Wade points out, completely unaffected by Peter’s outburst.

“I—“ Peter begins, “That's beside the point. I’m going home.”

Peter decides he will not even bother arguing with the man, and should have done what he meant to before. Go home.

“Sweet, lead the way!”

Peter sputters, “Y-you’re not coming with me!”

“You're going to make me eat all this yummy food on my own,” Wade gasps.

“I already ate, thank you very much, 45 fucking minutes ago when you took so damn long.”

“Did you want to see me?” 

“No!” Peter’s face is steadily reddening, “I—I’ve been there before. It’s my usual spot.”

Wade looks skeptical, “Right. Okay…”

They stand in awkward silence before Wade offers another smile, this time less teeth and a softer expression that surprised Peter. 

“At least let me walk you home, make sure you get in safely.”

Peter is instinctually about to slap Wade for mentioning once again to come to his house, but then his brain seems to finally process the man’s words and Peter pauses.

He frowns, looking down the street as they’ve reached the intersection. He wasn’t that far off from home, and it was only 5 minutes more before he’d reach his apartment complex’s entry.

“Well,” Peter shuffles his feet.

Whoa, Peter you ain’t thinking this through!

A part of Peter is adamant to say no, but another glance and Peter regrets it because he can see the slight wane in Wade’s cheerful behavior, and in his expressive eyes, Peter can see a waiver of confidence and the fear of rejection.

Uncle Ben always did say never look at an animal in the eyes…

Peter sighs, “Sure...you can walk me home.”

Wade immediately chippers up after that, slinging an arm over Peter’s shoulders and suffocating the younger man with his frame.

“So, cutie-pie, where to?”

Peter looks at Wade with exasperation, and points towards the path, and begins walking them towards his apartment.

It’s amazing in the span of the time to his apartment building’s door, Wade is able to fill the air with so many words.

“You ever been to Canada?” Wade suddenly asked, having switched from criticizing every flower planter they passed.

“No, never really been anywhere out of the country. Let alone New York...well I’ve been to a couple of states when I was in math elites” Peter answers.

“Pardon, math what?” Wade stops them, unbeknownst to him that they actually were in front of Peter’s place.

“You know, like a math club, and you go around doing math competitions. It was in high school.”

Wade’s eyebrows go up, and then he chuckles, “That’s even more adorable, the sexy Spider, is a cute little nerd as well.”

Peter scowls, “Nothing wrong with liking math…alot.”

“Hey, hey, don’t get me wrong.” Wade counters, “I’m a nerd myself, albeit not the uh—math type, but quiz me on any movie and I’m your gal. Speaking of which,” 

Wade is suddenly shoving Peter’s jacket more open, causing the young man to squawk in surprise, and the older male lets out a tsk at the sight.

“You’re killing me, baby boy. The Force Awakens, really?”

“It’s a good movie!” Peter snaps, defensively yanking his jacket close.

“I see we are going to have our differences.” Wade hums and then looks up at the building they’re standing in front of.

“I figure this is the place?”

“How’d you guess?”

“We haven’t been moving for the past couple of minutes.” Wade grins.

Peter huffs, shrugging out of the hold he had forgotten he was in, “Right, well thanks.”

Peter was unsure of what else to say. It was just so weird, how easy it was for him to fall into a conversation with Wade. How the man’s touch didn’t frighten him despite the fact that he is 85% sure the man murdered someone today.

“Well then, I best be getting while getting is good,” Wade says, though he makes no effort to step away.

Peter nods, quiet himself, glancing hastily at his door and then at Wade. He slows, readying to open his mouth to say something, but alas nothing comes out.

“Nice talking to you, Spider. Maybe I’ll see you at the club sometime.” Wade says.

Peter is partially relieved at the out and the fact that he didn’t ask to exchange numbers. There is a tiny part of Peter, though, that just wonders what if?

“Bye, Wade.” Peter says.

Wade nods and smiles once more before turning on his heel to continue onwards. Peter watches back for a minute before rifling through his pockets for his keys, as he climbs the steps and makes it to the entrance door he’s having an internal warfare.

When will you ever see this guy again? Two years, Peter! Two years, no sex, no dating, no nothing!

He could be a psychopath.

That may be true but we are gonna die a virgin.

We lost our virginity a long time ago.

Yeah, well with the way how tight things are getting—

Peter bites his lips, and jiggles his keys. Why did the first guy he has chemistry with after two years of abstinence have to be crazy?

Gwen and MJ have been nagging him into dating again, or at least getting laid.

It’s not like he’s been cranky or irritated, but he has been lonely, missing the intimacy of a warm body. Missing the feeling of being taken to another world of pleasure. It wasn’t even about the physical aspects of sex that Peter enjoyed, he’s never found it amazing as everyone else has, but he enjoyed the connection it brought.

Becoming one.

You did pray for a miracle this morning.

Peter chances a glance at where Wade went off. He can still make out the man in the distance, but he’ll soon fade away.

“When are you going to find another guy you’ll be willing enough to get intimate with, Peter Parker?” Peter mutters to himself.

When would he...studies were consuming him. Despite being a queen and constantly being propositioned, and he had a number of handsome guys offer, he just never felt the connection—the appeal.

Till now…

“Oh fuck it,” Peter starts, nearly tripping over his own feet running down the stairs.

The young man is on a sprint now, hoping to catch up to Wade who’s made long strides to the end of the block.

“Wait!” Peter cries.

To his hopefulness and tiny dismay—the logical part of him that still says this is insane--Wade stops in his tracks and turns in time to catch Peter colliding into him.

Flushed red and labored for breathing, Peter looks up into bright, hopeful eyes and a soft expression.

“I heard margaritas are great to have with tacos,” Peter huffs, and then blinks in confusion. “I don’t know why I said that though because I’m a broke college student that can only afford cheap, tasteless beer like Bud Light.”

Wade chuckles at this, but Peter continues to further embarrass himself by rambling on.

“Which...does Bud Light taste okay? I mean I’ve never really eaten with tacos, and to be honest I don’t really like beer. You see my friends came over one time for my birthday and we played games. And they’re also broke college students so Bud Light was cheapest and they brought that and—“

Oh my God, shut up, shut up, why won’t I shut up!

“—I threw up a couple of times, but not as much as Gwen! Despite her being smaller than me and all, she can actually hold her weight in alcohol, it’s insane.”

Peter breathes harshly through his nose, wide-eyed as he finishes his monologue. But instead of looking put off, or disconcerted, Wade’s face is engulfed in a shit-eating grin.

“Is this your invitation for me to come up, Spider?” Wade finally asks.

Peter lets himself soak up the handsome, rugged face. The scar on the brow, the long nose, the beard that Peter never thought he would be into a man with a beard.

All his previous boyfriends were always clean shaven, and so polish. Perfect pretty boys, and that’s what Peter had always thought to be his type.

But he was in the arms of a crazy, possible killer, with no manners, so not clean shaven, looks like he could crush walnuts by just flexing his biceps, and had the greatest smile Peter has ever seen.

“Yes, yes,” Peter isn’t even sure he remembers what he is saying yes to, far too mesmerized by dark eyes that still manage to seem so bright. 

“Come upstairs and fuck me—“

Peter is sure if you looked up the definition of red, he would now be emboldened in the text of Miriam-Webster.

“Shit, I mean, come upstairs and follow me—er, follow me upstairs. To fuc—fuc—funky uh funky watch, watch funky shows.”

Smooth.

At this point Wade’s shoulders are shaking in mirth, and he pulls Peter in for a tight hug, squashing the togo bag against his back. Peter is grateful though, having a place to hide his embarrassed face and also take in the smell of metallic rust, sweat, and sweet ice tea.

Possibly some spelt quesadilla sauce as well.

“I’d love to follow you up the stairs, and watch funky tv shows while drinking shitty beer.” Wade says into Peter’s hair.

“Great,” Peter says muffled.

They finally part, but then Peter is slipping his hand into Wade’s, still red as a firetruck.

“I’m Peter, by the way,” he says, ducking his head. His name was rather plain and unexciting compared to Spider. “Peter Parker.”

Wade suddenly laughs causing Peter to snap up at him glaring, “It’s not funny.”

“Not laughing at you, baby boy.” Wade appeases, “Just thinking your parents must have loved alliteration as much as mine.”

Peter castes a befuddled gaze.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Peter Parker,” Wade grins and squeezes Peter’s hand,”The name is Wade Winston Wilson. Better remember it well, sweetums.”

Wade leans in, their noses suddenly touching, and then he moves to press his lips in his ear.

“It’s gonna be the name you’ll be screaming while we watch funky tv shows.”

Oh, fuck.

Peter is gasping for air as he’s slammed into the wall inside his tiny apartment. He can barely make out the sound of the front door slamming shut over the sound of harsh intakes of breath.

Before Peter can even recollect himself though, Wade’s on him. Large form dwarfing his small one, Peter is enraptured in hot lips, the scratches of a rough beard on his chin and cheeks, and imperious crack of was sure to be one of Peter’s old family photos.

He can always get a new frame.

They are shifting now though, turning, Peter knows not where. It’s his own apartment and he's no longer in charge. Delirious from either lack of oxygen or overwhelming pleasure, he knows not. And at this point, he could care less.

“Bedroom, carpet, couch, or counter?” Wade rapidly says as he pulls their lips apart. 

Peter is too absorbed in the euphoria of full lips, frowns and sets about chasing Wade’s mouth for another kiss. The man chuckles and then shifts, glancing behind to see a worn out couch, it could do...for now.

“Uff,” Peter grunts as he’s thrown onto his couch.

Wade drops the togo bag on the coffee table, and already is making for removing his shirt, jacket long since discarded at the foot of the front door.

Peter is mesmerized, eyes glued to every precious revelation of sacred skin and scars. Wade had many but it only served to enhance his appeal.

Large hands make for the buckle of dark jeans, but Peter’s taking hold this time, a thin finger looped into belt holes, and he yanks Wade towards him.

Sitting upright, Peter smashes his face into a suspiciously stained part of Wade’s covered crouch and inhales. The man in question groans, perching a knee on the couch and carding a hand in soft curls before tugging lightly.

“Baby boy, you gonna suck me good?” 

Peter hums, nuzzling the spot in which his face was committing sacred fealty to. He presses hands against thick, strong thighs, and then doesn’t hesitate rough tugging at the hem of Wade’s jeans.

A chuckle and the hasty unbuckling for an impatient imp such as Peter is the only sound, coupled with breathing in the apartment.

With barely the full emergence of his cock on display, Peter is mouthing whatever skin he can access, including Wade’s hand that’s unforgivingly gripping himself.

“Fuck,” Wade hisses as he finally manages to yank his pants all the way down,”Freaking nymph!”

He’s grinning though as he yanks Peter’s hair, forcing the younger to separate from his treat and allowing Wade the opportunity to bend down and start unraveling Peter from his layers of clothing.

“Why do you got so much on?” Wade fusses. Peter is assisting though as well with the mission to get him naked. “I liked it better when you wore less.”

Peter snorts,”So did a lot of others.”

This causes Wade to pause, dilated eyes narrowing at the beginning of a smirk stretching on pale, faintly freckled skin.

“Little fucker,” Wade says when Peter is finally clothes free.

Peter is about to indulge himself back on the snack he had so graciously been enjoying earlier, but Wade has other plans.

Easily manhandling Peter, throwing the younger over his shoulder, Wade is marching them towards the drag queen’s room.

Peter cannot contain the cry of surprise in Wade’s action, or the yelp that occurs when the large fool drops him on the bed, carelessly. 

“Jesus,” Peter grouches as he shuffles, trying to make room for the larger male that’s crashing down on him. “So romantic.”

“I know, what can I say?”

Peter wants to say something snarky back, but is at a loss for words when Wade grips both their cocks, rubbing them together.

Twisting upward in a sensational surge of pleasure, Peter gasps and moans at the feel of a large, throbbing organ so tightly compressed to his own erection.

“So big.” Peter slurs, “Mhmm, so good.”

“Little early for the praises, wait till you have this bad boy splitting you apart.” Wade smugly says.

Peter rolls his eyes at him in clear annoyance all the while wrapping lean legs around a firm waist. He uses his legs to bring Wade closer, grinding upwards.

“Then you better speed it up,” Peter says.

“Gonna blow soon? Pretty immature.”

“Fuck you.”

“Maybe if you were little bigger, I consider it, but it’s gonna be a fuck you, sweetpea.”

Peter snarls at Wade, slapping the man in the chest who merely raises a brow. 

“Didn’t know I was taking an animal to bed.”

“This animal is about to push you down and ride you if you don’t hurry up.”

“Oh, I’d love to see that.” And suddenly Wade is stopping the deliciously grinding of their heated flesh, making Peter let another strangled noise of need and frustration. “For the love of--”

Wade smirks at Peter, shifting their positions by rolling over until the diva is on top of him. 

“So you were saying?”

Oh hell, yes!

Peter immediately smashes their lips together in a hot kiss, moaning loudly as his tongue maps out the taste of quesadilla. 

Wade rolls his hips as Peter wriggles himself down before he gets to inbetween Wade’s legs. He lavishes Wade’s dick with kisses and suckles before he takes it into his mouth. 

Peter hollows his lips and sucks in deep, moaning as he deepthroats as much as he can, and then pulls back and mouths the head of Wade’s weeping cock. 

“I thought you wanted to ride this bad boy,” Wade says somewhat out of breath.

Peter just hums as he continues to slurp at the slit of Wade’s cock, “Lube is in the drawer.”

And Wade doesn’t hesitate to shuffle through the drawer of the single nightstand near the bed. He manages to grab the lube without dropping it when Peter makes a particularly hard suck to his cock.

“Fucking minx,” Wade says as he pops the cap open,”I can’t wait to see you bouncing on my dick like the cock-slut I know you are.” 

Peter should have been offended by the insult, but it only spurred him on. He immediately snatches the lub from Wade before he can douse it on his fat fingers. 

“Nuh uh, you just lay there and watch,” Peter says. 

Wade’s eyes are hypnotic as they intensely stare at Peter. Wade even relaxes, folding his arms behind his head and leveling Peter with the smuggest look ever, “Alright, get to it then, princess.” 

Just for that, Peter roughly handles Wade’s cock, “That’s queen to you.” 

Groaning, Wade’s eyelids flutter low as he watches Peter begin to maneuver himself on top of him before stretching up to his face, and kissing him deeply. While tonguing that delectable mouth, Peter begins to finger his opening. 

He knows he will need quite a few fingers because Wade has an impressive girth, and it has been a while for him since the last time he did this. 

He moans into their kiss as he manages to get to fingers in him, working himself open and digging for the delectable spot that made him see stars. 

Despite wanting to be prepped a little better, Peter was also getting in patient with himself. He wanted to get Wade in him so badly, he was aching for it. He needed this as much as he needed air to breath.

Situating himself over the man’s cock, Peter pulls out of their kiss, a grin on his face as he lubes up Wade’s cock before gripping him and guiding him to his sloppily prepared hole.

“Holy shit titties, baby,” Wade moans low as Peter begins the mount.

Peter is exquisitely tight around him as inch by inch is pushing further into Peter. The younger male grimaces at the brief pain he feels, but he knows it’ll get better soon. 

Once all of Wade is inside of him, he allows himself some moments to adjust to the size. Wade was much bigger than his last boyfriend, and with it being two years since he last had sex, he was also out of tune with the shape of a cock inside him.

“Fuck,” Peter curses, “You fucking big,” he moans as he rocks himself on Wade’s cock.

The smug look only stretches into a leering face as Wade removes his hands from behind his head, and grips slim hips. 

“Baby boy, praise gets you everywhere,” He jerks himself upward as Peter slowly begins to lift up, causing the younger of the two to let out yelp of surprise in pleasure.

“F-fuck,” Peter moans louder. 

They soon pick up a steady rhythm of thrusting, Peter trying his best to string some kind of coherent thought but nothing but dumb ‘uhs’ are echoing throughout the room along with the obscene sounds of flesh slapping against flesh.

It just felt so fucking good. 

“H-harder,” Peter commands.

Although he’s on top doing his best to work himself over Wade’s dick, he tightens his grip on Wade’s forearms as he bounces harder with the aid of Wade’s hands on his hips.

“I’ll give it to you harder, baby,” Wade hisses, “Daddy’s going to give it to you so good.”

Daddy? Oh fuck me. Peter thinks as he arches his neck and closes his eyes to feel the way Wade’s cock spears him each time, splitting him further and further open. 

He was so close!

Wade leans up and takes the opportunity to bite into the exposed next, groaning as he picks up speed thrusting deeper into Peter’s all to willing body.

“Close?”

Peter grips Wade’s head, barely able to say yes, and just nods writhing all over Wade. The older male’s hands slip from Peter’s waist to grip his ass, and spread his cheeks further apart causing Peter to let out a scream of pleasure.

Wade’s thrust becomes more erratic and sharper with each moment, and soon Peter is arching his back, gripping broad shoulders as he screams Wade’s name into completion.

Wade buries his face into Peter’s shoulder, biting his own scream of orgasm into Peter as he blows his load. 

Somewhere in Peter’s mind he registers the fact he just had completely unclean sex with a would-be killer, and didn’t even check to see if he was clean, but far too gone from the overwhelming pleasure, Peter could care less at the moment.

Both of them breath harshly as they come down from their high. Peter panting heavily, nosing Wade’s face before peppering it with kisses.

The man slumps backward pulling Peter towards him and pulls the younger into another hot kiss.

“You are something else, Petey,” Wade breathes out. 

Fluttering his lashes, “Not bad, y-you’re not bad either.” Peter tries to catch his breath.

After a few more minutes of making out and nuzzling each other’s faces, Peter can feel Wade shift inside him, swelling.

“Are you…?” Peter trails off.

“Fuck, yeah, baby boy. Ready for round 2?”

Peter blinks, face flushing hard, “And how many other rounds than 2 were you thinking?”

Wade salaciously grins, “We’ve got the whole night ahead of us, sweet cheeks.”

He slams Peter’s ass for emphasis causing Peter to moan and grip his shoulders tightly. 

“Y-you,” Peter starts and then kisses the fool instead, “I hope you can make it through the night old man.”

“Old man? How old do you think I am?”

“Old enough, Daddy,” Peter coyly says.

Wade’s eyes glow with brightened lust, “You bet your fine ass, baby boy.”

#####

Slumping to the floor, face reddening, Peter can’t believe the events that he recalls happened last night.

He brought a stranger home, had unclean sex...the best sex he’s had in forever and proceeded to go through a sex marathon like some crazy forest nymph in a distasteful Greek play.

Peter had never been like that before, he’s had sex plenty of times and maybe gone up to a second round. But not like that. Not just going and going and going until he practically passes out.

Looking back up at the gorgeous body occupying his dinky bed, stretched out long limbs and a vibrant look of pure glee on a handsome face greet him.

It occurs to Peter that Wade is finally awake and probably been watching him have his freak meltdown in the middle of his bedroom floor.

“Morning, sugar,” Wade says sitting up and bracing his hand on his head, “You okay?”

Peter’s eyes trail the fur on the chest, the rock hard abs, and down the treasure of pubic hair that led to Wade’s magical dick of wonder.

“I’m,” Peter swallows. “Breakfast!”

Wade raises his eyebrows at the outburst. 

Peter blushes but hastily stands up before feeling so exposed being completely naked. Yet he shouldn’t feel embarrassed, not when Wade was worshiping and praising his body all last night.

“Fucking made for my cock, weren’t you baby boy? Taking daddy in so good, look at you twitching your hole, you so hungry for it, aren’t you?”

“B-breakfast,” Peter blushes harder, “Do you want breakfast?”

He’s a bit unsure what will happen next between the two of them, but he wouldn’t mind getting to know the man more.

He wasn’t a one-night stand kind of person, and with sex like what they had last night, Peter is pretty sure he won’t be able to to just set Wade on a shelf of one and dones and forget about it. 

For a moment, Wade contemplates Peter who fidgets under his steely gaze.Then he smiles all teeth and oozing sex appeal, “I’d love breakfast...and an encore of last night if possible.”

Peter’s face might as well combust into an explosion of heat at this point.

Shyly, he walks over to his dresser to rummage and find something to wear. 

“...Okay,” Peter says before looking at Wade with a soft smile and a twinkle in his eye.

“Really?” Wade says hopeful, “I was serious about the breakfast and hopeful on the sex part. You totally up for round 15?”

Peter sputters, “I-it is not round 1-15!”

Wade chuckles, “I don’t know, baby, we were going at it pretty hard. Just couldn’t get your greedy hole off my dick.”

“Y-you!” Peter is mortified, “Forget breakfast on second thought!”

“Oh, jumping right into already, I knew you were hungry for junior.” Wade stands upright immediately, getting out of the bed and rushing over to Peter.

Peter eyes glue onto Wade’s cock, with the daylight seeping in he has a better visual and can’t believe he went ham all over a dick like that.

Fucker was huge. 

Wade grips Peter into a hug and lifts him causing the younger to squeal.

“Should we do this in the shower, bed, floor?”

“We are not having sex again!”  
“But you said!”

“What? Are you two?”

“No, I’m just hungry for a perky ass that I think is hungry for a perky dick.”

Peter can’t help the laugh that fumbles out of his mouth, “Breakfast first.”

“I thought I wasn’t getting any?”

Peter flushes, “It’s hard to stay annoyed with you.” 

Wade grins, “Good, I have that effect on people.”

“What, being annoying?”

“No, being irresistible.”

Peter rolls his eyes, and squirms around till Wade puts him down. 

“Well, Wade Winston Wilson, would you care to have breakfast with me this fine morning?” Peter was fortunate he had classes this afternoon else this would be an awkward first morning.

“I would love to, you got things to make pancakes?”

Peter looks incredulous, “Of course, who doesn’t!”

“That’s it! I knew we’d be a match made in heaven, fucking pancakes!” Wade yells as he suddenly marches naked out of Peter’s room and towards the kitchen.

Peter just watches him eyes wide and wonders to himself what has he gotten himself into now.

Well, Peter laughs, he did pray for a miracle.

**Author's Note:**

> *I once upon at time did know the name of the poet that made that poem, but then I lost track. I just want to make a disclaimer I do not take any credit for it.


End file.
